You Dropped A Bomb on Me
by sarramaks
Summary: Hotch goes looking for Emily and finds her partaking in a different sort of hobby - that he is persuaded to try! Set after Emily's return.  Beginnings of a HP relationship.  A second chapter may be written...


_Oneshot for Angel N Darkness. She gave me this prompt for being reviewer 100 on Tread Softly. It's set after the first few eps of season 7, after Emily's return, but is not connected to any other story, and there is no established HP relationship._

_I had my first pole dancing lesson tonight. I am now bruised and aching. But it was brill and gave me inspiration! _

_Please review – then I might write second chapter..._

**You Dropped a Bomb on Me**

Morgan had told him Prentiss was at a studio just off Main Street, behind the old fashioned English sweet shop where Garcia would buy the treats he usually ignored. It wasn't urgent, but he felt as if he needed to speak with her that night, and had done his best to catch her before she'd left, only Dave had kept him talking about golf of all things and had then wittered about something else involving redheads and agents which he'd ignored as he really didn't want to send him on another how-not-to-sexually-harass –someone courses. Not that Dave had ever actually attended one; he'd usually managed to talk himself out of it, buy someone dinner or get them free tickets to some game.

But tonight, Hotch really could have done with Rossi talking to the redhead instead of himself, as he'd really wanted to catch Emily after they'd returned from Atlanta just to say well done, really. It had been hard for her, he knew, settling back in after the whole Doyle thing, especially given Reid and Morgan's difficulty in accepting her back. That was now water under the bridge, and she'd excelled herself during this case. He just wanted to tell her so.

Main Street was exactly not what it said it was. It ran parallel to the current trendy place to be, but was only patronised by those who knew the non chain restaurants and were prepared to put up with seating that was anything other than immaculate. The studio, Morgan had informed him, was immediately above the Thai boxing club that when you walked past you were nearly floored not by a punch, but by the kicking smell of deep heat.

The Thai boxing club was closed, but a light still shone at the top of the stairs, on the walls of which were directions to Ms Dee's Polecize Studio. Hotch squinted at the picture, aware that he was tired and possibly not seeing things correctly, but no, he had see it right. There was a picture of a silhouetted woman, her back against a pole, holding herself about a foot off the ground. Where on earth had Morgan sent him? Was this his idea of a joke?

Music became audible as he ascended the stairs, something with a jazz like beat and no lyrics. He couldn't hear any men, or calling or anything that suggested some sort of strip bar, and there had been no flashing lights outside, so he continued with some trepidation.

The door was open when he arrived at the top of the stairs, although he still would have knocked, had there been any point. As it was the music was too loud to be heard over, and there was only Emily Prentiss in the room, along with the teacher, Ms Dee, he presumed, who was wearing a pair of specially made stilettos. At least Hotch assumed they were specially made; he'd never seen a pair big enough to fit a man of Ms Dee's stature before.

His eyes though were really focusing on the man who was watching his student. They were on Hotch's subordinate; the woman whom he had lost sleep over while she escaped a terrorist; the woman he had been to Europe to find and bring home safe; the woman who was now moving spinning upside down around a pole in a way that looked like it should be an Olympic sport that only he was allowed to watch.

She jumped up the pole, grabbing it and pulling herself up, kicking out her legs from the knee then swinging them forward, somehow ending upside down. Lithe legs grasped the pole as she stretched her arms out posing, before sliding down and bending into a crab. Then he stopped watching the different moves and began to watch her, as the separate poses became a routine, telling a story that went with the song that was playing.

_It's drawing me in and pulling me to you, and every thought I have turns the language blue._

Then Ms Dee pressed stopped the song and threw Emily a tie. "Use that," he said. "Just go with what you think. Imagine you're doing this to seduce someone."

Hotch leaned against the doorframe, an unknown spectator.

_Hey handsome have you got the time, I've been watching you since the moment you arrived._

She moved around the floor near the pole, mesmerising him and for a moment her was certain that she knew he was there.

_A white suit from London, and shoes from Paris, don't'cha wanna spend about an hour with me._

She grabbed the pole and spun round, holding her legs in the air, before adapting some improbable climb up the pole to the ceiling, where she flipped upside down, using the ceiling to do the splits. She seemed so in control of every movement, showing a physical strength he had always known she had but he never appreciated before. But here that strength was wrapped in an elegance he would never have associated with Prentiss, although he had seen her use her feminine wiles before, with Viper, with Morgan when she wanted with his food, and had she used them on him?

_All it costs is just a minute now, for one dollar you can show me how, I'll take your hand and then your worries too; in just one dance I'll make your dreams come true._

The song was interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Ms Dee stopped the music. "I'll have to take this, Emily. Come by tomorrow if you're not on a case. You should do well at the comp." He disappeared into another room as Emily flipped down from the pole. She stood still now, allowing Hotch to notice the tiny shorts she was wearing and the tight tank top.

"You know," she said, seemingly to herself. "It would cost most men a small fortune to see the show you just got."

His heart rate went into panic rate and he seriously debated jumping down the stairs, but he was a grown man after all. In many ways. One of which felt painfully obvious right now.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't want to disturb you. And you were pretty fantastic doing that."

She turned to him now, her face flushed with the exercise. "Thank you. What's your excuse for being here?"

"To say how well you did on this case. I know the past few weeks have been difficult, but you've shown this week why we need you so much," he said, shifting from foot to foot. "How long have you been doing this?"

"About eighteen months," she said. "I know you probably think it's a little seedy – the sort of thing Rossi and Derek might pay to watch once in a while – hell, once a week, let's be honest about Dave there – but it's so difficult to do properly."

He nodded. "You make it look easy."

"That's the point. It's strength, stamina and grace and a hell of a lot of bravery as well. You want to have a go?" She stepped closer to him, the tie that she had been using as a prop in full view now. He realised it was one of his.

"You stole my tie!" he said, frowning.

She laughed. "You can earn it back. Come," she held out her hand.

Hotch stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. If he refused she would think him a miserable old fool; if he participated, he risked embarrassing himself in front of his subordinate.

Was she his subordinate? Right now the lines were blurred. He respected her, and right now found her incredibly attractive...right now? Just right now?

He took her hand.

"Lose the jacket, Hotch." She took it off him and put it down next to the stereo which she turned back on, drowning out the sound of Ms Dee speaking French down his phone in the next room. "Roll up your sleeves and take your shoes and socks off."

He obliged, feeling incredibly out of his depth. He couldn't bear to think of the conversation she would have with JJ and Garcia the next time they met.

"Now how warmed up are up?"

"Fairly," he said, telling the truth on various levels.

"Okay, we'll take it fairly easy, just some basic moves so you don't pull any muscles, although you may rip your trousers. Stand in front of the pole, then jump up grabbing it with both hands. Pull yourself up so your head is above your top hand and hold it for three seconds. You'll have no problem with this."

She was right. It was an easy move thanks to a decent amount of upper body strength.

"Right, next move. Watch this." She moved to a nearby pole and began to walk around it, telling him something about grip and hand positions that just melted into his brain as he focused on the very tight, very short shorts and that vest. "You got that?"

He mumbled something that could be taken as a yes then tried to copy her movements, finding himself banging his toe then squeaking down the pole as he tried to spin. Laughter echoed round the room.

"Okay," she said. "You need to concentrate on what you're doing and not what I'm wearing."

"I... I..." he said, unable to get his words out. "Emily..."

"Prentiss," she said. "And if you listen I'll let you put 'mistress' in front of that."

He groaned. Then suppressed another as she stepped behind him, putting her hands on top of his. "This is how you grip," she said. "Now move your legs when you feel mine move."

She was nestled in behind him, the closest he had been to a woman for too long. He could smell her perfume, feel her warm breath on his neck, her breasts against his back. Then her hand went to his hip, indicating when to lift his leg, and he lifted himself off the ground, managing a fairly competent spin.

"See, it just takes focus," she said, rubbing her hands and stepping away from him and the pole.

He moved away from the offending object. "I think I should stop now."

"I won't say anything Hotch. You know, thankfully it was you and not Rossi or Morgan. You will keep my secret." She walked over to her purse and pulled on jogging bottoms and a jacket. "You want to grab a drink and you can tell me how good I am?" She gave him that grin again.

"I'm not – hell, why not?" he said. "Might as well be hung for a sheet as a lamb. I guess you've already dropped a bomb on me." She looked at him quizzically.

Hotch shrugged. He'd only just realised himself exactly what that bomb was.


End file.
